


Arcadia

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-11
Updated: 2002-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-01 05:57:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/352786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Futurefic) "I was looking for you." Lex's smile fades in the bright sun.  "In fact, I've been looking for you for three years."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arcadia

## Arcadia

by valentine

<http://angelfire.com/grrl/eloquence/index.html>

* * *

Disclaimers: So not mine, but you already knew that. 

A/N: Thanks to N. for the beta. Response to Livia's X-Titles challenge. This is my first real attempt at Smallville so any comments, curses, criticisms or suggestions will be greatly appreciated at graciepuppy@msn.com. 

Arcadia 

* * *

April 2017 

His head slams back, impacting sharply with the wall before he's even aware that someone has entered the room. He can feel his body being lifted, pinned against the rough wood paneling of his study, his feet no longer touching ground. It's familiar but not, much more harsh than it's ever been before. For a moment he plays with the idea that he really is being attacked. When the small explosions behind his eyes finally subside he allows himself to look at his assailant. 

"Clark." 

He's both relieved and oddly afraid. 

"I didn't expect-" 

The sudden crush of lips silences the rest of the thought. He can feel more than see the tense lines of Clark's body. The younger man's eyes are closed tight in a familiar pose. Against the world, against the night, against him, Lex isn't sure. He convinced himself years ago it didn't matter. 

Lex leans slightly into the arm pinning him up, relaxing his body. Closing his eyes he gives in to Clark, allows himself to accept the kiss. 

Tentatively he winds one of his hands into the blue fabric of Clark's uniform, his other going to Clark's cheek. Stroking ever so lightly, he's amazed again at the smoothness. None of the lines and wrinkles his own face is starting to wear. He's not really surprised when Clark bats the contact away. More often than not, this is the way they are anymore. Hard, desperate, needing. 

He remembers a time they were more. 

That time had passed years ago now. Clark believes it's more Lex's fault than his own, and Lex is willing to let him have that. 

By the time he realizes that he's being moved, they're halfway across the room. "Don't..." he starts to growl out in warning. He hates being carried like a rag doll, always has. But something in Clark's demeanor stops his protest. For the first time in over a decade he shuts his eyes against the sensation and allows himself to be completely passive. 

When he opens his eyes again, the world has tilted, and Clark is there, kneeling over him. Twisting slightly under the inhumanly broad chest he reaches for the bedside table, opening the drawer partially before a hand on his arm stops him. Turning back he looks questioningly at Clark. 

"No." Clark shakes his head his voice breaking over the word. And Lex can see for the first time how shattered Clark looks behind his eyes. Like the world has fallen into a million pieces and come to rest there. 

"All right," he offers quietly. And the acquiescence seems to be all that Clark is waiting for. Strong hands are suddenly everywhere, pawing at his face, pressing him into the mattress, working methodically at the buttons on his shirt. Nothing but desperate touches and icy fingers against bare skin, and Lex can't think of a time Clark has ever felt so cold. 

\-- 

"Please..." The entreaty is whispered in his ear as Clark curls behind him. Clark always asks, since that day he'd read the file Lex had carelessly left in his study. A mistake he regrets every day since. It was only a theory, an untested hypothesis. But Clark had latched onto the idea with the same sense of absoluteness with which he pursued everything else. The file had outlined a procedure to insert small samples of a lead and kryptonite composite into Clark's bones. Designed specifically to not injure Clark while still sapping his powers. He knows Clark sees it as a chance to kill Superman and make Martha Kent's son a real boy after all. 

And now he gives the same answer he gave the first time. The same answer he's given every time since. "No." 

The sudden wash of cold air against his naked back sends a painful shiver through his body. By the time he can upright himself and glance back over his shoulder, Clark is standing by the window; fully dressed, not a hair out of place. 

"I'm sorry," Clark offers quietly. 

Lex knows he's talking about the new bruises, the darkening rings around his wrists, the fingerprints etched into his hips. He also knows Clark is asking for more forgiveness than Lex can give him. 

"It's all right." Because this is part of the ritual, too. Not enough, perhaps. More than nothing, at least. 

His back still turned toward Clark he recites his lines. "What happened?" 

He waits for the answer. Some nights it comes more quickly than others. Sometimes Clark stands for hours at the window before answering. He suspects it has something to do with the earthquake in Indonesia, but it could be the wildfires burning in Colorado, maybe the hurricane threatening Polynesia. 

"My parents are dead." 

And suddenly there's not enough air in the room, and Lex can almost taste river water on his lips. It shouldn't hit him this hard, he thinks. He's never been terribly close with the Kents, but they'd been such a constant. Always there through Clark. 

"I'm sorry." He wonders if his words sound as hollow as he feels. "How?" It's not what he wants to ask, but it is all that he can manage. He thinks somewhere along the line he's lost the privilege of asking after Clark directly. When there's no answer he turns only to find the window open, Clark already gone. 

Noticing the drawer to the bedside table is still hanging open he moves to close it. He's not really surprised to see the lead box is gone. He knows Clark won't be back. 

* * *

August 2020 

Clark bends over the plow, straining to dislodge the rock jammed between the metal blades. He curses silently, sweat soaked linen upbraiding his chest where he's leaned against the till. The hot, Grecian sun beats down on his back, and he's thankful for possibly the thousandth time that he doesn't burn. He wipes his face with a forearm, hissing when the black cuff around his wrist catches a few stray strands of hair. He's never liked calling them that. They resemble handcuffs far less than they do those silly slap bracelets that were all the rage in sixth grade. These are tight and flexible, though; better to keep the lead and kryptonite composite pressed tightly to skin. 

He thinks briefly about taking them off. It would only be for a moment he reasons. Just long enough to fix the plow and get back to work. Normally he wouldn't even consider it. The only thing he ever really misses is running. For miles, for days, he doesn't care. Sometimes he thinks about taking only the ankle cuffs off, to see if that would be enough. He always decides against it though; too much temptation. Besides he's found, since he first came to the Peloponnesian countryside, that he likes the sweat and pain that comes with manual labor. The chores now not at all that different then when he'd been a boy in Kansas. He wonders if his dad had secretly relished the feel of sweat sliding down his brow, the slight tingle in his palm where, in the morning, there would be a new callous. 

Immediately he regrets thinking about Jonathon. Cringing against the memories he throws his full weight against the rock. He almost doesn't feel the dull blade breaking his skin as he topples to the ground. Lying spread eagle in the field he brings his injured hand up to his face, tentatively eyeing the wound. Like every time he bleeds he's irrationally thankful that his blood isn't some sort of hideous green. He can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of that thought. 

"Care to share the joke?" 

The voice doesn't startle him perhaps as much as it should, though he chooses not to dwell too much on it for the moment. Slowly raising his head he eyes his companion, taking in the dark slacks and pressed dress shirt. Even with his shirtsleeves rolled up and his tie hanging loose, Lex looks elegant. It almost makes Clark look around for the photographer. He wonders if everyone feels so under dressed and over classed as he does around the man. Glancing at Lex again, he suspects they do. 

"Lex." He brings his injured hand to his mouth, lightly suckling the wound to staunch the bleeding. 

"Clark." 

"What are you doing here?" 

"I would think that would be rather obvious." 

"I'm a simple man, enlighten me." 

"I was looking for you." Lex's smile fades in the bright sun. "In fact, I've been looking for you for three years." 

"And you've only just now found me? I'd say you slipped pretty far off your game." 

Lex chuckles mirthlessly as he moves to squat down next to the younger man. "Yes, well, the help these days," he shrugs. "It seems all the good bounty hunters have their hands full, what with Superman gone." 

Clark lowers his eyes guiltily. Has to remind himself, for the thousandth time, that the world isn't his responsibility; at least not his alone. And there's just enough truth in the statement to allow him to stay here. 

Lex reaches out to lightly tap on the black band encircling Clark's wrist. "Besides it seems that you went to great lengths not to be found." 

Clark allows his head fall back to the ground. He doesn't really have an answer for that. The cuffs had initially been just for that. Insurance to help keep his powers in check. To prevent him from doing things that would inevitably show up on surveillance. But then he'd grown accustomed to them. To the lack of power. It made him feel human. He loved it. 

He feels the shadow move over him. Opening his eyes he sees Lex standing above him, straddling his thighs. Lex moves slightly to better block the sun, his bald head suddenly surrounded by a halo of white. Clark can't help but laugh at the imagery. 

"Another private joke? Really Clark, it's impolite." 

Clark looks hard at the offered hand before grasping it tightly. He's vaguely surprised by Lex's strength, though he's not sure why. Lex's body always was deceptive. 

"Thanks." 

"You're welcome." 

"So what can I do for you Lex?" 

"I think you know the answer to that." 

"Let's assume I don't." 

"Come back with me." 

"No." 

"Wouldn't you like to take some time to think about it?" Lex asks mildly, his voice giving away none of the annoyance Clark thinks he can see behind the eyes. 

"No." He replies more firmly. Moving past Lex towards the plow, he flinches slightly as his shoulder brushes Lex's. 

"It's been three years Clark." 

Clark's hand snaps out, clutching Lex's wrist harshly. He turns the arm until he can see the familiar watch face. "And how long has it been since your mother? Thirty years? Don't talk to me about forgetting." 

"Twenty seven. And it's not about forgetting. It's about moving on." 

He releases Lex and turns away, returning to his work. He doesn't have the time to be lectured by Lex, nor the inclination. He's vaguely surprised when Lex steps up next to him, coolly appraising the situation. 

"Would you like some help?" 

Clark turns ever so slightly. He expected Lex to protest his decision, not to offer to help him fix farm equipment. He nods slowly before turning back again. 

"How should I...?" Lex asks, tossing his suit jacket over the plow's grip. 

"Brace the back end there, I need more leverage." 

After ten minutes of pulling and pushing the rock is nowhere closer to unstuck. 

"You know this could be much simpler," Lex offers. 

"Lex," he voice holds all the warning he can summon. 

"All you have to do is take them off." 

"Are you going to help or to talk?" 

"You'll have your strength back in a matter of minutes." 

"I'm Not. Taking. Them. Off!" Clark grunts as he gives one last great heave, sending the offending rock flying across the field. Turns to Lex only to see his own goofy grin matched by a smug one. He wonders when it was he began missing that small upturn of the lips. Maybe the moment, that night, he flew away. 

"I was going to break for lunch here soon. Now, I mean." He has to consciously will himself not to dig his toe into the dirt and to look Lex in the face. "You can stay. If you'd like." 

The smile spreads across Lex's face. It may be the first genuine expression he's seen since Lex arrived. 

"I'd like you to. Stay," he says before thinking. He's sure he hadn't meant to. Then again being around Lex had always led him to things he'd never intended. 

"I'd love to." 

He leads them back to the small house. The walk isn't long, but the hot sun and silent company make it seem to go on for hours. Pushing open the door, he immediately goes to the basin to wash the grime off his hands. 

When he doesn't hear entering footsteps he turns back to Lex hovering inside the door, looking at him with a kind of awed interest. 

"What? My humble home too rustic for you?" he sneers, trying to cover embarrassment with contempt. 

"No, I..." 

He can almost see Lex processing, and wonders how transparent he really is. Apparently deciding to ignore the rebuke, Lex walks over, stopping just inside Clark's personal space. 

He can feel his muscles tense almost involuntarily. It's been so long since anyone had been this close to him. Too long, he thinks. 

"You've aged." 

The wonder in Lex's voice surprises him. The cuffs had been of Lex's design, a kind of compromise; surely he must know their affects. But then, Clark never wore them for more than a day or two before. Maybe there's no way Lex could have imagined that they'd do their job so well. The first time, after the nausea had subsided, he could feel the change. Could feel it in his every cell, the slow grind of life moving against time. He wondered then if humans felt it too - age creeping in, inevitably changing everything - but decided they wouldn't want to if they could. The sharpness of it has faded now, though he can still intensify it if he concentrates. Some nights he lies in bed, just feeling his body slowly dying. It's the most comforting sensation he's ever known. 

He turns his head away from Lex's gaze, trying to hide in the shadows. He doesn't own a mirror but he knows what Lex sees. He can feel the pull of weathered skin across bone every time he smiles, can feel the dirt collecting in the rough lines of his face. He sometimes wonders if he looks more like Jonathon now. Still too tall, too brunette. But worked and worn. Rough, like a farmer should be. 

"I-" The calloused fingers suddenly tracing his face stop the protest before it can begin. He closes his eyes, blindly turning back into the caress. Enjoying the feel of Lex's fingers on him until the only answer left to give is, "yes." 

He gasps as the fingers are withdrawn, cool air rushing in to take their place. When he opens his eyes he's not surprised to find Lex staring at him. It's only then that he realizes he's been breathing hard enough to cause his chest to heave. 

Immediately he can feel the telltale heat of blood rising up to his cheeks. Lex's smirk is enough to tell him that it's all too apparent even on his deeply tanned skin. 

"So, uh...I'm afraid I don't have much. I don't get many visitors." 

"That's all right. Besides, I'm hardly in a place to complain, now am I?" 

He moves to the cupboards, searching almost frantically for something that might be up to Lex's standards. He's not sure he wants to know what it says about him that Lex can stroll into his life after years and still have this affect on him. 

Grabbing the remains of a loaf of bread and a block of cheese he leads his companion out to the small table on the porch. It's almost pleasant in the shade, the humidity still enough to make his skin slick and a little tacky. He knows Lex must be sweltering in the city garb, not that the other man shows it. His shirt is still obscenely crisp, even his shoes look newly shined, like they're somehow immune to the dirt and dust. 

He tears the loaf in two, handing half to Lex, and sets the small plate of cheese between them. Looking at the meager offerings he can feel his cheeks turning crimson beneath the tan. In the hour Lex has been here, he's made him blush more than he has in three years altogether. There's something vaguely wrong, yet achingly familiar about that. 

If Lex minds the set up he doesn't show it. Clark's inordinately grateful when Lex rips into the offered bread, smiling at him as he does. 

"You should come back," Lex says, laying a piece of cheese on his bread. "I know Chloe and Pete would be glad to see you again." 

"If you're going to lie you should really get your facts straight first." 

Lex cocks his head slightly to the side, the only indication that he doesn't understand what Clark's talking about. 

"Chloe knows," Clark offers. 

"Really. I was under the impression that no one knew." Lex stiffens slightly with the words. 

"She's been here. About a year ago now. She says she figured it out about a year before that." 

He remembers Chloe showing up, not at all unlike Lex, fresh from the city. Uninvited but not unwelcome. 

"Well, then, I'll have to extend my deepest admiration to Miss Sullivan. She's quite good at playing the innocent." 

"I think she'll be pleased to hear that." 

"So perhaps I'll succeed where she failed and persuade you to come back." 

"No." 

"Why not?" 

Clark laughs bitterly. "What? So you can trot me out in front of your constituents. That would be a major coup for you, wouldn't it? 'Senator Luthor Brings Back Superman', banner headlines with the requisite accompanying photos. I suppose it's just a nice coincidence that the election is only a couple months away." 

He watches Lex intently, watching for a flash of emotion, of anything to cross those eyes. He wants anger. He gets pain. And it's gone as quickly as it came. Satisfying nonetheless. 

"I'm not so sure the rustic life agrees with you Clark." The voice is too high, too tight. It's enough for the moment though, and Clark wonders when he began to take such pleasure in cracking Lex's faade. "You've turned into quite the cynic." 

"I prefer to think I was groomed into it. I had a very good tutor." 

"Only the best," Lex murmurs. Clark's sure it's not meant for his ears, but his hearing is the power least affected by his 'condition'. 

"So what was it about Chloe that made you say no. Afraid she'd put you on the front page, make you an exclusive?" 

"I didn't have to say no. Chloe never asked." 

He can see Lex struggling with the statement, and he chooses to count this silent admission as a victory. When Lex reaches out across the table Clark closes his eyes, waiting for the caress, because this is how they are. Hurts inflicted by words and assuaged by touch. But the contact never comes. He opens his eyes to find Lex staring at him, smug smile back in place, and he has to remind himself that they aren't those people anymore. Lex gingerly lifts the slice of cheese he'd been reaching for to his mouth. 

\-- 

The cheese and bread disappear quickly as he realizes he's much hungrier than he thought. It hardly registers that Lex touches nothing after the first few bites. Leaning back he notices how low the sun has gotten for the first time. 

"I should get back to work." He grins apologetically at his guest, and starts to collect the remains of the meal. He heads back into the kitchen, feeling Lex following closely behind him. 

"So tell me," the voice is behind him and he can almost see Lex leaning casually against the doorframe. "If employing the names of friends isn't enough to move you, what exactly do I have to do to change your mind?" 

"Set up the procedure." 

"Clark-" 

"It's the only way." 

"I won't do it." 

"And I won't go back. It seems you're in a bit of quandary." He sets the last glass aside, turning to confront the older man. 

"Did I call you a cynic earlier? I meant sadist." 

"You're the one making the decision Lex, not me." 

"You don't know what you're asking." 

"I do." 

"It will kill you. Hell, the procedure itself may kill you. But if it doesn't the implants will. Look at yourself now, with just the cuffs." 

"I know all this." 

"Do you have a death wish? Is that it Clark? Are you suicidal? Because I won't help you to-" 

"God. How can you still be so self-righteous? Did it ever occur to you that not everyone wants to live forever?" His voice is an accusation, but Lex doesn't back down. "I don't want to die tomorrow and I don't want to live for hundreds of years. I just want to...to..." 

"Grow old?" 

"Yeah." 

"I don't understand." 

"You don't have to. It should be enough that I do. But it never mattered to you what I want." And for the second time Clark enjoys the pain that clouds Lex's eyes. 

"It matters to me." Lex's voice cracks around the edges, shocking him. It's more vulnerable than he's ever heard, more than Lex would ever allow to be seen. "It matters to me _why_ you think you want that." 

"Don't..." He drops his voice low in warning, but Lex keeps pushing. 

"If this is about your parents-" 

Even with the cuffs on Clark can move faster than humanly possible. He has Lex pinned up against the wall so quickly the older man doesn't even have time to take a breath. Bracing his free hand against the wall next to Lex's head, Clark leans in close. 

"I don't _have_ parents anymore," he says quietly. "I'm an orphan." The word tastes bitter and traitorous in his mouth as he spits it out. He wonders briefly at the panic in Lex's eyes before relaxing his grip just enough to let Lex's lungs expand with breath. He feels a twinge of guilt at the sound of the ragged inhalation, but not enough to let the other man go. 

He's startled when Lex tries to speak, and has to lean in to catch the words. 

"We all become orphans...at some point." 

"Not twice around." He releases his grip entirely and watches as Lex slips to the ground, clutching at his chest. Turning away he grabs his rucksack and begins shoving things in. 

"Why are you here Lex?" He asks again, hoping for a real answer, though not expecting one. 

"I think I've made my intentions pretty clear." 

His bag full, he turns back. Lex has made it to his feet, standing with his hands in his pockets; an affected air of casualness that Clark used to find terribly off putting. 

"You're lying." And he can see the tension course through Lex's body almost immediately. Except in his eyes. Nothing but a glassy indifference there. So very Lex. 

"You're one to talk," Lex says it flippantly, but it bites far more than anything else he could have said. 

"I have to go to town. I won't be back until late." His words are clipped and forced. "I think you should be gone by that time." 

He slams open the door, leaving Lex standing in the middle of his house. He hopes the words were more convincing than they sounded in his head. 

* * *

He can hear the heavy footfalls several minutes before the door opens, and he's vaguely amused that Clark has never learned the art of stealth. Then again, he never really had a need to. 

"You're still here." 

He takes some comfort in the fact that the voice sounds more surprised than angry. He's still prepared to hike into the city in the dead of night, though. 

"Yes, and I fixed dinner. I hope you don't mind." 

"You cooked?" 

"Yes." 

"Here?" 

"Yes, Clark, here. What do you think? That I had it flown in while you were gone?" 

"Well, yeah." 

"Just because I choose not to cook the majority of the time doesn't mean I don't know how to cook. My mother went to great lengths to ensure I was self-sufficient in many areas." 

He dips the spoon into the soup and holds it out. Clark leans forward hesitantly, closing his mouth around a small portion of the offered spoon. He almost laughs out loud when Clark's face changes immediately. 

"Good?" 

"Yeah," Clark absently wipes an errant drip from his chin. "Now I _know_ you had it flown in." 

\-- 

Dinner passes in companionable silence. He's pleased to see Clark seems to be enjoying the fare. He tries to help when Clark moves to clean the plates but is forced back into his chair, a glass of liquor set down in front of him. Some kind of dessert wine he thinks. Thick and a little too sweet for his tastes. When Clark finally sits again, he's already feeling the warm glow down in his stomach. He takes a moment to assess his companion, decides it might not be the best time, but if not now maybe never. 

"So, we're you ever planning on telling me what exactly happened that night?" Not exactly the subtlest approach, but he didn't feel like wasting more time. 

"My parents died." He thinks Clark's face has the same look it did then. Like stone, impassive and brittle. 

"No, I mean, why did you run? You didn't even stay long enough for the funerals." 

"I couldn't...I..." Clark mumbles, drawing in sharp breaths, and something else like 'my fault'. 

"It was an accident." 

"But I wasn't there...I should have been there." 

"And what, should you have spent your whole life in Smallville? Waiting for that one in a million chance?" 

"I could have done something." 

"You're right," he confirms. He can almost see the thoughts fly through Clark's mind as the words sink in. He wonders if Clark ever bothered to find out the details, or if he was happy enough to beat himself up over vague notions. Looking at Clark again he decides it must be the latter. 

"I had an investigation carried out after you left. You father was killed on impact but your mom survived for several hours. The autopsy indicates that if she had received better medical care sooner she may have survived." 

"I could...I could have saved her. Oh God...I could have flown her to Metropolis..." 

For a moment, watching Clark's face twist in grief, he thinks he should have waited longer. The pain is still too close to the surface. He knows with Clark it will always be that way, barely contained, like the rest of him. 

When they were still young, not long after Lana's death, Clark asked him if it was possible that he had super emotions. They both laughed, more at the silly way he put it, than at the theory behind it. All his physical gifts and so many mental ones, it seemed reasonable that he could have enhanced feelings. Lex didn't have a good answer and Clark brushed it off as a joke, but sometimes Lex still wonders. 

"You would have saved her," he offers with a dire certainty. "And 200 Indonesians would have died." 

"239," Clark corrects him absently. 

"Yes, indeed, 239." 

"So I traded one life for hundreds. What kind of choice was that?" 

"It's the choice they raised you to make." 

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" 

"No," Lex sighs. "Truth is rarely as comforting as we believe it should be." 

"Then why?" Clark's voice rises steadily and Lex idly wonders if there's anyone around to hear him scream. "Why are you doing this? Is this payback for walking out on you?" 

"No," Lex stumbles over the word. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It's not supposed to be about him. He came for Clark, not for himself. "I-" 

"Why did you come here Lex?" 

* * *

He waits for the answer, wondering if it will be more truth or lie. A small part of him takes pleasure in the way Lex is clearly wrestling with the question, the sudden change of direction. He's not at all prepared for the sudden, rough embrace, the hard mouth against his own. 

Lashes out, catching slim arms hard enough, he thinks, to leave bruises. "Stop fucking around Lex. Why are you here?" 

"I came because of you," said like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Because I want this." Lex breaks free from his grip, moving close enough to brush his lips over Clark's. 

It's still a lie. He's found, over the years, that Lex confuses need with want. And there's something else, more just behind the gray-blue of his eyes; ready, Clark thinks, to surface. So he accepts the lie this time as something closer to truth. It may be all one can get from Lex. 

He pushes Lex into the wall and leans into the kiss, pleased by the small gasp he gets. Lets himself linger there. And Lex tastes of olive oil and sweet wine and underneath it all, familiarity. Comfort. 

Breaking away he touches Lex's forehead with his own, only vaguely aware that they're breathing in syncopated time. Watches the steely eyes watching him. Maybe hatred, maybe loss, maybe just time has made them hard, almost hostile, and maybe a little less certain than they once were. 

"What do you need?" 

And suddenly he can feel the slim fingers working at his wrist. Insinuating themselves between metal and skin, searching for the small clasp hidden there. 

"Lex...no..." 

The fingers don't cease but the look is like a blow. Accusing and unforgiving and he knows that this may be the very least he owes Lex. Thinks it might be okay, because of all the things Lex needs this is one that Clark can give him. 

As the cuffs slip first from one wrist then the other, it's like a surge, electricity running through his veins. He has to reach out, bracing his hands against the wall for fear of grabbing and breaking. He doesn't remember Lex moving but suddenly those clever fingers are at his ankles, and his knees are threatening to fold under him. 

Hearing the last cuff clatter on the floor is like thunder, and everything is like that. Louder, brighter, softer. Almost too much he thinks. 

And there's air on his stomach where Lex has rucked up his shirt. Cool fingers on wet skin and mumbled words that sound like 'beautiful' and 'perfect'. He wonders how long it's been since they stopped saying those things to each other. 

Shirt suddenly gone and sharp teeth against his collarbone. He wraps his arms around Lex, and, against protests, picks him up. Unaccustomed to the strength, he has to restrain himself from throwing Lex on the bed. He climbs over, straddling Lex's thighs, as he works on the buttons of the dress shirt. Tries to shake the feeling of dj vu as Lex just lays there, smiling sadly up at him. 

\-- 

His body still surging from the absence of kryptonite, Clark curls himself around Lex's back, pulling the slim frame against his chest. 

He feels Lex shiver, almost imperceptibly, beneath the skin. The nights are almost as warm as the days this time of year so Clark can't imagine it's from cold. But he asks anyway. 

"No. I'm fine, Clark. Thank you." 

He senses Lex's body tensing next to him though, belying the words. 

"Lex?" 

"Hmm?" 

"How long have you known?" 

"That you were here?" 

"Yeah." 

"Two years and eleven months." 

Clark draws back slightly, shocked at the answer. He'd suspected Lex had known for a while, but almost three years was hard to believe. He chuckles almost to himself. "Didn't hide very well, did I?" 

"You did, actually, very well. I just happened to have some very loyal and motivated hunters." 

"Why now?" 

"Why not now?" 

"Lex..." 

Lex shifts beside him, curling in more tightly on himself. He knows Lex is getting ready to lie, can feel it in his body. He wills the other man not to. Almost prays for the truth. And is still surprised when he gets it. 

"My father had a heart attack last night." 

He's strangely unsurprised by the news. Of course it would have taken something of that magnitude to bring Lex to him. Not about love at all, just momentary pain and want. He tries to pull back but Lex catches his arm, pulling it more firmly to his bare chest. 

"He died alone." 

* * *

Lex carefully sips the fragrant tea, watching the sun rise over the field. The brew is slightly bitter, a sharp bite on his tongue. He's thankful for that. He isn't sure his stomach can handle anything too sweet at the moment. 

Briefly he considers leaving before Clark wakes. Slipping out has never been his style though. 

Leaning back against the doorframe, he has a direct view into the bedroom. Clark sleeps like he always has, sprawled and boneless and completely vulnerable. It's unnatural he thinks, though he still envies the ease. Some days he wonders what he did to lose Clark; most days he wonders what he did to deserve him in the first place. 

No one had ever had faith in him like Clark. He thinks his mother did, but he was too young to tell. Dad had had faith in the Luthor genes. Clark had faith in Lex. Rather, he used to. Now...Now Lex isn't sure Clark has any faith left. For anyone. 

The kiss on his neck is gentle, startling him nonetheless. 

"Morning," Clark murmurs into his skin, still half asleep and wrapping strong arms around Lex's slim waist. 

"There's tea on the stove. It should still be warm," he offers quietly, slipping out of Clark's embrace. 

He can feel Clark's eyes appraising him; can almost hear Clark wondering what his sudden aversion to touch might mean. He sighs in relief when the younger man turns and heads to the kitchen. He can hear the cupboard being opened and shut, the metallic ring of the spoon in the sugar bowl. By the time Clark steps out again, Lex is seated near the corner of the porch. 

He's unnaturally grateful when Clark settles down next to him; careful not to touch, but close enough to heat the air between them. 

"It really is beautiful here." 

"Yes it is." 

"And quite a lovely piece of metaphor as well. I must say I'm impressed Clark. Then again, I always suspected you had it in you." He remembers laughing when he'd been shown the location of Clark whereabouts: Greece, the peninsula of Peloponnesus, ancient Arcadia. It was almost too perfect. 

Lex catches Clark's grin from the corner of his eye. It's wide and bright and not a little goofy. There's something completely reassuring about that. 

"So tell me, have you found it?" 

"Hmmm?" 

"Simplicity? Contentment?" 

"I think I have, yes." 

"I envy you." 

"You could stay." Everything in Clark's voice means it. Even his body language is issuing an open invitation, there for Lex's taking. 

Turning his body more fully toward the young man, Lex looks closely at Clark for the first time. Clark has de-aged overnight. His face is no longer a crisscross of crow's feet and worry lines. Even his hands are callous free. Clark looks all of 25 again. 

"How...?" he begins, though he's already figured out the answer. 

"The kryptonite. I, uh, spring back whenever I take them off." 

"You haven't put them back on." 

"Not yet." Clark shakes his head, too long hair falling into his eyes. "I'll be sick for a week and I can't afford to be laid up right now. I'll have to wait till the harvest is in." 

Lex reaches out to touch the delicate skin along Clark's brow. "You should take them off more often. You look..." He wants to say 'so young' but something in Clark's eyes begs him not to. "You look refreshed." 

"I guess the night's sleep was good to me." The grin Clark offers is so blinding he has to turn away from it. 

Lex shifts uncomfortably on the wooden step, careful to maintain a safe distance between their bodies. "I can't. You know, stay," he offers weakly. 

"I know." 

He pushes himself off the low porch, grabbing for his jacket. A firm hand on his wrist stops him. 

"If you-" 

"Clark." He knows all he has to do is ask again. Clark would come back with him. He has to bite his tongue against his first response, because it's not supposed to happen like this. Despite his earlier pleas he knows it. He'll wait until Clark can come back on his own terms, even though he knows Clark will never return home. He belongs here now. 

"I was just going to say you could come back." 

"I hardly think the American people will approve of their leader making trips to Greece for the purposes of continuing an illicit liaison." 

Clark gives him an exasperated look that's almost comical in it's intensity. "I meant after your terms are over." 

He can't help but grin at the easy way Clark assumes he'll win not one but two elections, and thinks maybe Clark has some faith left, after all. 

"If you want to, that is," the uncertainty is back in his voice. Somewhere it should have never been in the first place. 

Reaching out, he smiles and allows himself to touch Clark's unblemished face once more before turning to leave the way he came. 

"I do," he whispers, though he knows Clark can hear him. Can almost feel the brightness of that smile on his back. 

And it's not a lie. In eight years, he thinks, he'll be ready to return to Arcadia. 

\--End-- 


End file.
